


Opening Act

by Cocobunny



Series: A Flock of Owls [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cocobunny/pseuds/Cocobunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Direct sequel to Closing Time. Dick has been cast aside by his Court, and now the only one he has left is the man who he tired to kill. Bruce has taken Dick into his home, but the other members of the family are not too quick to trust this exTalon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of a project to see if I can handle writing a multific for a while. Ignoring the timeline after issue 7 of Batman and the Court of Owls, I’ve taken the liberty of being a bit more flexible with events, and just for the moment, focusing on character relations. The war will happen, just, not right now. (that and cause it hasn’t happened in the comics yet, lol)
> 
> Thanks to Ari and Janet for betaing this for me.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Flying Graysons!”

Dick’s up on top of the platform with his parents, waving down at the cheering crowds. He remembered this, not this specific show, but the adrenaline; the one that comes from pleasing a crowd, with all eyes on him, waiting for a show. Waiting for when he would step off the platform and fly. 

The rush of power, of freedom and flight at his fingertips, the smooth easy flow through the air, and the reassuring touch of hands as his parents catch him. He remembers this, he misses this.

A boy, with large timid blue eyes, smiles shyly at him. A laugh, his own laugh, as he plucks the boy and place him on his knee, hugging him. He remembers the cotton candy smell of the boy’s hair, the fluffy pink sweet still clinging to the tips. The flash of a camera goes off, and a large, encouraging hand touches his head.

“Good luck today,” says a voice. The sound of it builds up warmth in his belly and spreads it through his limbs. He can’t see the face, or remember the voice, but he still remembers the warmth of it.

Blood seeps into the ground, the deep shade of red staining the dirt around their mangled bodies, the screams that fill the tent and his breath leaves him with choking sobs.

Words of reassurance, words that meant nothing, do nothing, are left unheard as he stares at the grave markers. A heavy hand lands at his shoulder, turning him around, and the face of an owl stared back.

A tribunal, people seated high above him, judging him behind their owl eyes, and an old frail woman in a wheel chair, pointing her claws at his eyes.

“Don’t look worried, dear. We’ll take care of you,” she soothes, stroking his cheek with brittle fingers. He shivers from the cold…

—

The cold cut through the colors, the dimmed memories, and light pierced through his eyelids.

“…hy?”

“Because, I know him, Alfred…”

Voices. Two of them, quiet and distant, but so close. The sky above him was bright and blinding, even through the haze. He shuts his eyes again, and sank back into the void.

—

Rain pours around him, he can hear it, the drops hitting the mud, the soft pads of feet as they sink into it. He’s blindfolded, but he can sense them, -see- them in ways his eyes can’t. The sharp whistle of wind cuts through the air, and the press of cold metal nearly grazing his arm as he ducks, kicks and lunges at the assailants. He cries out when the blade cuts through his shoulder, as he falls and clutches the gaping hole.

Someone leads him to a sarcophagus shaped like an owl, propped up in the middle of the room. The man leads him inside, with Dick’s arms and legs bounded together. The doors close in on him, shutting out the light, his screaming does nothing. No one will listen; it’s only wasting his breath.

The pain cuts deep into his palms, the barbed wires digging into his thighs, the warm free flow of blood cresting down his calves. The tears sting at his eyes and his mouth tastes of hard copper. He can’t feel it anymore.

The world dims down to a grey haze, the edges are fuzzy, and nothing looks real. The blood running down his hand isn’t his, but he’s fascinated by it. The smell is harsh in his nose, and the color’s too deep and rich, and it’s warm. He puts his hand back into the body, and smiles because it soothes his chilled bones. 

—

The steady beep of a heart monitor cuts through his awareness. Monitoring… whose heart. His? It’s not his. It couldn’t be. He had no heart.

—

It’s their first encounter, and Dick can’t help but admire him.

His target’s hard scowl sends a strange stir of pleasure in him, tiny and fluttering in his stomach. He sees him, he knows he’s here. He’s ready for him. It makes Talon smile behind the mask.

He’s so close he can hear the man’s breathing, so close they could kiss.

The touches are real and solid, and Talon allows tiny moments to himself, letting his fingers graze Wayne’s palm, watching him longer than he needs to. Years of gazing at grimy photos and static television screens could only reveal so much, and he’s almost drunk from being so close to the real thing.

The words were at the tip of his tongue, the things he wanted to say to him, but watching the blood spurt from the cuts driven into that beautiful skin, it left Dick speechless with awe. And a need to see more cuts carved onto that delicious skin, silence him, letting him ride the flow of the kill.

—

“You’re crazy, Bruce! What do you think he’s going to do to you when he wakes up?”

“I’ll deal with that when the time comes, Jason.”

“Bull. Shit.” Someone scoffed, disgusted. “Do you even hear yourself? Did all those weeks in that hellhole screw you up more than we thought?”

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy. It was almost hard to breathe in it.

“Why do I even bother…” the angry one, Jason, sighed tiredly. “Whatever. When he wakes up and I find you sliced and gutted like a piece of meat, I’m not going to care shit about it.”

For a while, the only sounds prominent were the angry footsteps heading back up a pair of stairs, and all that’s left was someone’s steady breathing. It posed as a comfort to Dick as he slipped back to sleep.

—

Anger and hate pulse through him.

“Shut up..”

Damn him! He won’t let up. The Batman’s eyes are like fire, locking him in place till he can almost feel the physical burn of that gaze on him.

“You think you’re special? Well let me tell you something, you’re not!” The punch connects hard with his face, and he can feel it. The force of the blow snaps his head back, his body crushing the sculpted buildings beneath him. His body shakes, his breathing is short, and he can’t seem to act fast enough.

“Quiet!” Stand up, fight back! Cut him! Make him shut up! But he can’t. Batman’s words have hit home, they’re echoing inside his head, tearing him apart, and he’s not done with him yet.

“Despite what the others may have told you, how special you are, you’re nothing. When I look at you, I don’t see someone special.” Batman growls, picking Talon up by the scruff of his neck. “All I see is just another low-life criminal!”

He doesn’t feel the blow that knocks him into the next room, can’t feel the pain that rocks through him when he hits the ground. His eyes lose their focus, but that doesn’t matter. The pain his body feels is nothing compared to what Batman has done to his heart.

Nothing. No one special. A criminal. Not his liberator, his enemy, his killer, nothing. He is no one to Batman’s eyes, he is nothing to himself, and that hurts more than a decade’s worth of pain.

—-

The light swam into focus, the light still bright, but his eyes had adjusted. They could look on without shying back behind his eyelids. The ceiling was high and dark, the soft cry of bats echoing around him. The room was too vast, and it should have been cold, but Dick was wrapped up in a thick blanket that radiated his body heat back at him. The steady beep of the heart monitor was mounted at the side of the bed, an IV drip pole stood next to him.

Dick looked at all of this with confusion slowly settling into his muddled brain. He knew where he was, he read the reports. This was the Batcave. What didn’t make sense however was, why was he here?

He should be with the Court, laid out in their recovery room, with the feeling of vengeance flowing through him. Not in the home of the enemy, feeling lost and alone-discarded.

Getting to his feet wasn’t difficult, but the lightheaded feeling was new. He gripped the IV pole for support, blinking away the black spots of his vision as they danced in front of him. He gritted his teeth. He didn’t like this momentary feeling of blindness. It meant he was vulnerable, open to attack. A moment of weakness.

Maybe it was years of training, or the heightened senses that made up for the seconds of blindness, but he heard the soft crunch of feet approach him from a set of stairs. He whirled, using the pole as a weapon, his veins thrumming with nerves put on the edge, adrenaline pumped fiercely through his veins, poised to strike and kill.

An old man stopped in his descent down to the cave, a tray with bandages and a small bottle of anesthetic in his hands, looked down at Dick with barely a slight pause of surprise.

“Finally you’re awake. I think it’s time to tell Master Bruce the news.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope. This story's still going on, it's just taking a long time to get things written out, edited and posted. So sorry for the wait.

Bruce Wayne was a lone figure in the darkened room. Dick saw him face the city he thought was his; thought he knew it inside and out, only to be proven wrong by a band of vicious owls. His shoulders were hunched, giving off the impression of a man defeated and exhausted. To see his former prey beaten and broken brought a dull smile to Dick’s lips. The death of the Bat might not have gone as plan, but seeing this broken reflection of a man was greatly satisfying, if only to have it in retribution for what happened down in the Labyrinth.

The Bat’s words still rang in his ears, like poison, slow and deadly. The strength of his desire wield a blade now was unfathomable. The faint spark of revenge flared weakly, then was dampened by exhaustion of his own. It took effort to keep himself upright and walking, but he stopped on the other side of the room, finding that his legs refused to bring him closer to the other man.

An empty, fluttering feeling crept its way up from his belly, worming its way through his limbs, settling over him like a cold breeze. He found it difficult to swallow and breathe.

It took him a moment to realize what the feeling was. He had never felt nervous, not like this, not even when he was on the bar with his parents. This was a different kind which wrecked his body, and made his limbs weak, and his stomach churn.

Who was he, this man that managed to make Dick’s limbs shake, his body stiff and unmoving. How could he have underestimated Wayne all this time? He was more dangerous that Dick had given him credit for. That was his mistake, and look what it cost him.

Wayne barely turned when the old butler came to his side, the two men speaking softly to each other. Dick strained his ears to listen, but only caught the rough tremor of Wayne’s voice. A tremor ran up Dick’s spine, remembering that same voice repeating those cruel words in his head.

He pressed the heel of his hand tightly against his forehead, pushing them away, willing them to shut up, leave him alone. Not now. He can’t show that the Bat’s words had hit home. He can’t show his weakness, or else the Bat had truly won. Dick would not give the man the satisfaction.

“If you follow me, I’ll show you to your room,” said the butler, making Dick jump.

“My room?” Dick asked dumbly, his mind catching up slowly. How had the butler approached him so silently?

“Of course, sir. Master Bruce wishes you stay as long as you need to.”

“What…” Dick glanced up without thinking, a mistake as his gaze found Wayne’s eyes. His eyes were obscured by shadows, but Dick could see the faintest glimpse in them, and he knew that Wayne’s gaze was sharp. It struck at his chest, and forced him to turn away. Dick would have no more of Wayne’s looks. Those eyes unnerved him. What a weakling he was.

He bit back the question, the one that nagged at the back of his head as he followed the old butler out of the room, the one that asked, ‘why?’

Why would Wayne welcome an enemy freely into his home in such a way? What was the Bat planning? Was it some sort of plot? Or, was it merely pity?

Pity was about the worst punishment that could be given. Pity meant that he wasn’t a threat, he was no more helpless than a kid. The thought made his stomach roll, making him cough to hold back the bile that nearly lurched up his throat. The butler turned, giving him a curious glance before continuing down the hall.

The old man's stupidity was laughable. Hadn’t anyone ever taught him to never turn his back on a killer? But Dick was tired, and killing was not enough to urge him into action. Not yet. As much as he had slept down in the cave, his body still was heavy and his head cloudy and unclear. The cool air of the manor seeped beneath the borrowed clothes he wore, causing gooseflesh to emerge in pricks on his skin. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into the bed he saw once the butler opened the room.

The shadows of the room beckoned him with promises of oblivion, and he found that he longed for more that than anything else than at that moment. But despite his body’s aches, he didn’t step into the room.

“You’re all fools to allow me into your home,” he said, his voice sounding dull and dead to his ears. He hadn’t even enough strength to sound threatening.

“Fools we are maybe, but we are not without our courteousness.” The butler replied, sounding remarkably calm next to a killer. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there are other urgent things demanding my attention.”

“Like Wayne calling for a back rub?”

That caused a black brow to arch from the old man. “No. The living room’s been left to gather dust, and if I don’t hurry over quickly, the wretched dust motes might band together and overtake the library next.”

A startled laugh escaped Dick. The sound was nothing more than a dry cough that tickled the back of his mouth, wrecking his lungs with air. He stood there, stunned. He thought he had forgotten how to laugh; with laughs that weren't laced with madness. 

He jumped when he felt a hand pat his back, whirling around to see the butler give him something like a soft look. “Perhaps a bit more rest will be beneficial for you.” He suggested, gesturing toward the bed.

Dick nodded numbly, shoulders sagging in relief. Taking orders was what he did best. He made his way toward the bed in slow steps, sinking into the mattress with a sigh. Curling up into himself, his face still toward the door, he caught the butler closing the door slowly. A spark of amusement flaring inside him. As the door closed, Dick caught the look on the old man’s face. The look of fear, and suspicion, etched on his face.

—-

Sleeping was a relief. There were no dreams to haunt him. No memories that sent him gasping, confused, awake in a cold cave. The blinds in the room were drawn tight, and Dick couldn’t tell if it was still dark or light out. But he crept from the bed and ambled toward the bathroom that was included with the room.

The bathroom lights stung his eyes, but he braced himself against the light, blinking against it even as his eyes watered slightly. He stared at his reflection, blanching at what he saw. A pathetic sight of his former self. He looked aged, withered, hollow-eyed and weak. No better than the rats that scurried around Gotham’s alleys.

And Dick knew who was responsible for putting him in such a miserable state. Just nights ago, he was a ring master, soaking up his courts’ pleased sighs, their approval, their hungry anticipation of expectant of a grand show. He had been on top of the world. So close to his goal, it had been mere inches from his grasp.

Those beautiful blue eyes had been so dull; almost in Dick’s hands. He remembered his own excitement, his own hunger and lust when he laid his hands on the Batman’s battered body, and then something had gone wrong. Something had snapped in the Batman. Something feral, vicious, and destructive.

And just like that, Dick’s life had been ripped to shreds. The glory of his task clawed away with a single swipe. The Batman had stolen it all, left him with nothing but shame, and a disgusted Court that regarded him like the dirt beneath their feet.

Batman. Wayne. He had caused him to lose his home, his life, his Court. -Everything-. He had reached deep inside Dick, and gouged the proud warrior he had been once upon a time, leaving him nothing but this shell that stared back at him from the mirror. 

Rage blinded him. It made him scream, his fist pounding on the mirror till it cracked like spider-webbed. He did it again, and again-anything to wipe away his reflection. The pain only intensified the anger. Bits of glass littered the sink, shards of it sticking in Dick’s fist.

His breathing was ragged, his vision painfully clear and sharp. The pain shoved away the cloud that hung over him from the night before, clearing his mind, showering the world in sharp clarification. He looked back at his reflection, realization dawning on his gaunt face. An elated smile spread across his too thin face; the smile of a madman.

He knew what he had to do then. What he should've done when he and Wayne were presented to one another without their armor. Both vulnerable in their own skin- so open for attack, that Dick cursed his idiocy and slowness. It could be rectified. He could make up for his mistakes. The Court may not welcome him back, but at least he could quiet his own anger, and perhaps move on. Give himself a peace of mind-whatever had been there to begin with.

A long shard of glass laid near his hand. It was long and sharp, the edge just enough to slice through delicate skin. Dick ran his thumb over it, and shivered slightly as the glass sliced open skin. He sucked on the wound, letting the metallic taste of his own blood settle down in his mouth, giving way to his determination as he gripped the shard carefully in one hand. 

The bedroom door barely made a sound as he eased it open, slipping out silently. The hallway was awash in light, and he blanched at it. If he found the bathroom lights too bright, the sun gleaming outside the tall windows was no comparison. It blinded him, and he stumbled for a moment, but he didn't let the momentary weakness slow his steps. Pressing up against the wall, he made his way down the wall, opening each room and peered in. Each time coming up empty. Wayne's room had to be here, somewhere on this floor. He'd search them all until he found him. 

Slip in while the man was still dreaming, silently ease himself up on the bed and press the shard of glass against his throat. He would wake up, dazed, but alert, and the last thing he would see would be Dick smiling down at him as he slit his throat. He could just imagine the wash of the blood as it would spray, and it made him shiver in anticipation.

His fingers barely grazed the handle to the next room when the door swung open and was met with the barrel of a gun. Fiery blue-green eyes locked on his target, the finger ready against the trigger. 

Jason Todd gave Dick a hard smirk. "Sorry, wrong address, circus boy. This is as far as you'll go."


End file.
